


Big Bad Wolf

by Kalira



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anchors, Angst, Humor, Implied Allison Argent/Scott McCall/Erica Reyes, Inspired by Music, M/M, Non-Graphic Body Disposal, Non-Graphic Violence, Non-graphic death, Werewolf Hunters, Wolf Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-10-25 22:39:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10773930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalira/pseuds/Kalira
Summary: A hunter's dart and a difficult confrontation give Derek a push towards what he was meant to be. Afterwards, Stiles is there to help pick him up again.





	Big Bad Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> First draft written as part of a Music Shuffle Challenge, for the song Miss Mystery, by Breakerz.
> 
> Every year I try and post a story on my birthday (happy birthday me!) but this year today's is also part of my May Be Crazy May project (to post a story every day this month) which I'm halfway through and still having fun with!

Derek let out an unintentional howl as a fiery stab of pain dug into his chest. _Dart_ , he thought, snarling as he dragged himself back under control, clenching his jaws. And then he remembered the warning Stiles had given them all.

The cocktail in the darts these hunters were using was designed to wreck control and jack up adrenaline, at least, and Stiles hadn’t been able to tell him what else but he’d looked - and smelled - worried. It hadn’t been reassuring; Stiles was usually pretty reliable with his information if it was available at all, and more unsettling, he’d been _angry_ at his own lack of information, not just frustrated.

All he’d been able to say for sure was that the dart might be enough to kill a mortal; a werewolf would probably only be knocked into their shifted form. _Only._

Knocked into shifted form and- and-

Something else, but Derek couldn’t _remember_ the rest of what Stiles had said, his head muddled and his wolf howling. His muscles burned surrounding the place the dart had pierced. His nose stung from the assault of scents that suddenly seemed a dozen times stronger, and Derek couldn’t get his bearings.

He clawed for his anchor, and snarled, pain lashing through him as he dragged up agonising memories to fuel the anger.

It wasn’t _working_ , Derek could feel himself slipping away as he snarled and swiped his claws at the attackers. Stiles had taken a good fifteen minutes sidetracking to talk about the stupidity of this plan from the hunters’ side, Derek thought vaguely, before that thought was gone too.

Why was the anger not working?

_“Oh, baby brother, but it’s been a long time since the anger really worked, hasn’t it?”_

_Derek froze, his heart clenching. He spun towards the low voice._

_“Come on, think. You can do it. My sweet baby brother.” Laura said, fading into view, her eyes glowing in sharp relief, like they had used to. The way their mother’s used to look. Derek’s throat tightened painfully. “You have a new anchor, it isn’t just gone. Anger was never a good anchor for you anyway.” She frowned slightly._

_“It worked.” Derek said hollowly, wrapping his arms around himself._

_“It held you back, instead of grounding you.” Laura scolded, shaking her head, her long hair ruffling where it fell over her shoulders. “An anchor is to keep your heart whole, and your mind in control, not to drag you down.”_

_“I have to be-”_

_“Don’t you **dare** tell me you need to be forced down!” Laura snarled at him, and Derek fell back, ducking his head. He might be an alpha now, but Laura was still his big sister._

_Derek flexed his fingers, bones aching._

_“ **Think** , baby brother,” Laura said, gentle but firm, “something that makes you happy and calm, instead of hurting too much to change. Surely your life isn’t all strife now?” she was almost coaxing, her still-red eyes hopeful as she kept his gaze._

_A reel of his life since returning to Beacon Hills played in Derek’s mind and he dearly wished he could offer something more positive to his sister, but no, mostly it was strife. Supernatural and not, this town was. . . Hell. At least for him._

_“Oh, Derek.” Laura sighed. “Poor brother. But you do have a new anchor. The anger isn’t working, so find the thing that does. You **have** to, or this will eat you.” She gestured, and Derek got a glimpse of the world he’d left behind when Laura walked into view._

_Hunters, fighting, Derek saw **himself** looking half-crazed - ’nobody on upstairs’ floated through his mind in Stiles’ voice - and tearing through anything that came close enough, enraged. He flinched, watching a man fall to the ground in several pieces._

_It faded away again, and Derek shook his head. “I have to- I have to do something!” It was **his body** , his wolf, doing that, and he. . ._

_“You have to find your focus. You can’t stop it without finding your anchor. You can’t find who you were **supposed** to be without it!” Laura snapped, lifting her jaw, staring him down expectantly. “I will **not** allow the last of the Hales to be **this** , baby brother. You were made to be strong. Our **family** is strong. This is not how that works.” she finished more gently, as Derek began to cry._

_“I can’t- I was never-” Derek had never **been** alone before, he’d grown up as a cub in the centre of a large, stable pack. His family. The years without them, with only Laura and then with **no one** . . . he hadn’t ever grown used to it, had no idea how to ground himself without them. When he was young his anchor was his family, and when he grew older it still was - it was just the agony of losing them and the fury for the one who took them, now. Or it- It had been. “Please, Laura.” he begged. He didn’t know what to do._

_“I can’t fix this, baby brother.” Laura said, her face conflicted and sorrowful. “You have to do it. But you aren’t alone, even without us, are you?” she asked softly, stretching out a hand to him, though she stopped before coming close enough to make contact._

_Derek thought of them. Erica, fierce and feisty and playful. Boyd, a steady and silent presence. Isaac, broken and angry but also so very, terribly young. Scott, a more foolish adolescent wolf than he thought any of their family had been. The sometimes-ally of Allison **Argent** , brought along with Scott, to Derek’s continuing unease, even after getting to know her. Stiles, who had no reason to be looking out for wolves or. . ._

_No reason but his loyalty to Scott, Derek reminded himself. And Stiles was a stubborn bastard. And **loyal** , had even refused to abandon Derek in the past when doing so would have guaranteed his own survival._

_Derek shook his head, feeling something buzzing at the edges of his consciousness - he realised a moment later that it might be. . . Something from his body, maybe, something happening to him while he was **wherever this was**?_

_“Trust yourself, little brother.” Laura said with conviction, catching his gaze as soon as he looked up again. “Find your anchor. You will be so much happier once you can let us go and look forward, Derek.” she said softly._

_Derek wasn’t sure how much ‘forward’ there was for him to focus on, though he supposed he had Scott to continue shepherding through ‘werewolf lessons’ if he **would** continue on the way he did, and his other young wolves if they stayed with him, and Beacon Hills to look after in general._

_At least it was easier now; the police no longer looked straight at him every time something went wrong - Derek suspected Stiles had talked with his father and somehow eased that, but he had no proof - and Chris Argent was the only proper hunter left in town. He was decent enough to coexist with, if alarming - his daughter’s arguments had helped sway him, but his own moral code was easier for Derek to trust in._

_And Derek did have something approaching a pack again, strange as it was._

_The buzzing returned, and a weak shading of what Derek thought was reality began to filter through in his vision. Hunters, he thought. Certainly there were no other werewolves around him . . . well, that was good. He could only have hoped they’d run._

_Derek might attack them, in this state, if he couldn’t **get control back** . . . and he’d been affected long enough that he could have already. Most of the hunters were dead - or down, at least. Derek wished he could be optimistic enough to think that they were **just** down, but his feral self. . ._

_A flash of red that wasn’t bloody crimson in the dark fractured Derek’s focus as he was watching himself move, and he realised with a drop in his stomach that Stiles was still there. Not close enough - yet? - for Derek to reach, but the hunters . . . and Derek would be a threat if Stiles came closer and Stiles might not think so and Derek could **hurt him** and he fought with himself. Stiles was pack - or near enough, he wasn’t a wolf but no he was **still pack** and Derek couldn’t face it if-_

“Get away from its _teeth_!”

Derek’s jaws snapped closed on - his nose wrinkled in distaste - someone’s wrist, filthy with gun oil and something that burnt his tongue. He dropped it hurriedly, sticking his tongue out as he tried to spit, spinning and finding-

Derek stumbled, startled to find himself on all fours, but he wasn’t _down_ he was. . .

Wolf. Full wolf. Like Laura. Like _mom_. The thought barely flashed through his mind before-

Derek was frozen, stunned, but a warning cry got him moving again. Stiles’ voice - why hadn’t he _run_ , stupid breakable human he was going to get himself _killed_ , fuck, _Derek_ could have killed him before he’d come back to himself. Could have come back to himself to find Stiles bleeding out into the dirt like this squad of hunters.

Derek’s heart wrenched and his lips pulled back a little more over his teeth as he snarled.

They were _terrified_ , these men, even the one who kept calling the shots, moving just a little too fast - and too cleverly - for Derek to catch him. Derek lunged, launching himself at the nearest and crunching the stock of his dart gun - why was he still using _that_? - on his way down on top of the man.

He stopped moving once on the ground, though he was still breathing, and Derek left him and moved on, taking down the other - his body ached, and it was . . . unfamiliar, the way he felt and the way he _moved_ , but the hunters weren’t putting up much of a fight any more.

They were tired and injured already, of course, and Derek’s feral state seemed to have left them panicked - idiots, hadn’t that been what their drug cocktail was designed to do? Probably, Derek realised as he slowed, no more enemies to fight, his full wolf form had frightened them too. They might not have been prepared for that.

Derek looked around, taking in the wreckage - _carnage_ \- and wondering if any of the hunters had fled. He paced a little. He couldn’t remember how many there had been, his memory of the battle was incredibly weak and sketchy even before he’d been lost in his head. He wasn’t sure how many were still here, bloody on the ground, either. He dipped his head, eyes closing. His breathing stuttered and he whined, trembling all over.

Scott wasn’t here in the mess, whole or injured, so he must have fled after all. Boyd had probably gone with him. They were the only ones who had been here, so at least his pack was safe - from the hunters, from _him_.

Derek breathed deeply, eyes still closed, catching the slightly spicy-sweet scent of something _solid_ and. . .

“Hey there, big bad wolf,” a soft voice murmured, no fear, no _fear_ , “it’s okay. It’s okay.”

Derek opened his eyes, blinking confusion away. He opened his mouth to speak and realised it felt . . . strange. What- He shook himself, and recognised Stiles in front of him, one hand coming to rest on his head, sliding down to his shoulder, lingering comfortingly. Stiles knelt down before him, and that was wrong, was strange. . .

Derek’s head bowed a little as Stiles came close, and he saw paws - _his_ paws - by Stiles’ knees. Wolf, he remembered. _Full_ wolf.

_Who were you supposed to be, baby brother? Did you think it was only a tortured beta?_

Derek whined again, baring his teeth, and Stiles rubbed his shoulder with one light, confident hand. “Hey, no threats any more, Derek. It’s okay. Just you and me, big bad wolf.” he all but crooned. “No one’s gonna hurt you.”

Derek lost the upset in surprise. Stiles’ amber eyes met his evenly, no hesitation. “I got you.” he soothed, rubbing Derek’s jaw, plucking away a scrap of _something_ from his fur.

Derek shuddered, lifting a sore paw off the jagged piece of metal he’d been standing on. Stiles rubbed the top of his head, gently plucking more little bloody scraps out of his fur. “It’s okay, big bad, we can figure it out. You’re safe.” Stiles murmured, though his eyes were darting around the clearing; still watchful, Derek realised. Not dropping his guard, though he wasn’t guarding against Derek.

Derek actually _felt_ safe, for a wonder, even here, with Stiles holding his head, kneeling before him, utterly unafraid. He breathed in the familiar spicy-sweet scent and pressed his muzzle to faded red fabric.

Stiles laughed softly, the tone a little strange but still familiar, still Stiles, and gently wrapped an arm around his neck, steadying him as he leaned closer and just holding onto him. Snug and comforting, not too tight. Derek let himself take comfort in the companionable feel of the almost-hug, but only for a few moments before pulling away.

He sat back, and as he did he melted into his human shape. He struggled to his feet, nose wrinkling at the feel of the blood and dirt on his skin, shivering at the chill in the air.

Derek collapsed weakly before he quite got upright. As he went down, he expected to feel the harsh bite of the ground under his bare skin, or even discarded weaponry from the hunters. Instead, he felt soft fabric and the warmth of living flesh, though his knee had come down on what felt like something dead.

Gentle hands smoothed over his shoulders again, this time without the fur, and Derek drew in a deep breath of Stiles’ scent as he realised his face was once more planted in a dull red hoodie. Stiles still wasn’t afraid.

A soft hum, barely there, caught at Derek’s attention as he tried to fight the exhaustion and drag himself up, stop relying on this delicate, breakable human. It took him almost a full minute to recognise the tune as he fought his own body.

Stiles was humming _who’s afraid of the big bad wolf_ , the utter snot.

Derek grinned and actually laughed into his chest, even while struggling to get up. “Hey, there you are, big bad.” Stiles murmured softly, breaking off his humming song, a smile in his voice. “Easy, easy. I figure it takes a lot to make you nosedive like that, let’s not push so hard it happens again.” He supported Derek with a firm grip on his arms, helping him get to his feet as he tried for it, despite the words.

 _“There you are, baby brother. . .”_ Laura’s voice echoed in his mind and Derek’s throat tightened before he realised what she was saying. __

 _“My little wolfling.”_ that croon was his mother, and Derek froze. _“Take what makes you strong, Derek. Don’t use us to hurt yourself any more.”_ A phantom brush of a strong hand across his brow.

It was replaced by a real one, a cooler touch and bonier fingers, Stiles gently flaking blood off his face as it turned out. Derek stared at him.

“Uh. . . Hello? Big bad wolf?” Stiles said uncertainly. “Derek, hey, anybody home? We should get out of here. I _super_ do not want to be here when anyone else notices this mess, do you feel me?”

“I- Yeah.” Derek said vaguely, breathing deeply, mostly catching Stiles’ scent still but now he wasn’t pressed snugly against the boy - man - also getting a thick lungful of the miasma of smells here; blood and fury and panic. Death. “You could have left me,” he said, looking around, “you didn’t have to-”

Derek yelped as something pinched harshly over his hipbone. He looked at Stiles, shocked.

“I know you’re not that much of an idiot, big bad.” Stiles said sharply, his bright eyes narrowed and fierce. “Now. Are we leaving, or are we waiting for someone to just wander through here by accident or call my dad about the weird noises?”

“I. . .” Derek trailed off, and Stiles cocked his head impatiently. “Sorry. Yeah I. . .” He shuddered. “Let’s get out of here.”

Stiles shuddered. “Hell yes.” He helped Derek pick his way through the mess of the aftermath, and Derek wondered anew, taking in the carnage he had wrought, _how_ Stiles had been able to bring himself to stay while he was doing _this_. He swallowed down bile.

Derek had been prepared to kill when he came out tonight, looking for the hunters, he’d had to be - but this wasn’t just killing. These men were shredded to bloody, wrecked pieces and had been sick with fear before they died. Derek’s pure wolf side had been crazed with the drug and enraged at the hunters and-

“Hey! You, uh, okay?” Scott asked, stumbling a bit as he dropped down the slope towards the path Stiles had been leading Derek down.

“Yeah.” Stiles answered for him, which was great, because Derek wasn’t sure what he would have said. He’d been shot, beaten, drugged, spoken with his sister, shifted into _wolf_ shape, gone feral, had his anchor ripped away from him and another to find. . .

Derek shook his head to himself, shuddering. Stiles squeezed his arm reassuringly.

“Be a bit of a crummy fit, but there’s spare clothes in my Jeep.” he said quietly. “And a blanket. You can at least wrap up in that until we get you back home.”

Derek had forgotten. That was . . . good. He had been trying not to think about his state of undress, and successfully avoiding thinking about how he was going to get back to the house. He’d forgotten Stiles had hidden his Jeep not far off.

Getting to it proved a little tricky, as they had to slip deeper into the woods - Derek was weak and clumsy, and Stiles, he figured, couldn’t really _see_ as they moved deep enough that the trees were cutting off the light of the moon. The flashlight Stiles had brought was pretty dim, flickering as though it had been damaged, and illuminated only a small patch.

Boyd caught up to them not far from the Jeep. He looked them over worriedly, and Derek growled softly, a reassuring rumble. Boyd nodded, looking more settled. “Chased after two that made a break for it. One tumbled down a ravine, think he broke his neck. The other.” he flexed his hand, claws extending and then retracting to a human hand again.

“All right. Good.” Derek said vaguely. “Back to the house. We’ll leave the hunters for- for now, at least.” He wasn’t sure what they could _do_ with the men, really.

Boyd and Scott both nodded, and Stiles frowned, pausing just as they reached the clearing where his Jeep was parked. Isaac was already there, to Derek’s relief, looking mostly fine, though perhaps a little rumpled and bruised, like both of the other wolves.

Derek knew he looked much worse, himself.

“If their equipment was cleared away - or most of it - they would probably look like they were caught by wild animals.” Stiles said, still frowning. “Especially if they were more spread out. Not ideal - there’ll be a panic again - but I don’t think we can just get rid of all of them, either.” He climbed up and leaned through into the back of the Jeep.

Derek knew he should be thinking of something to help, or offering input, but he was struggling just to stay on his feet, even leaning against Stiles’ Jeep.

“Can spread out the bodies.” Boyd volunteered a suggestion.

“Could burn some of them and leave the others?” Isaac added, eyes darting worriedly towards Derek. He tried to haul himself up a little more, look more stable.

Stiles paused, face thoughtful. “That and most of their heavy-duty stuff hidden, probably. See how it looks; only burn them if you have to, tonight. Just some out of town idiots who died in the woods.” He sounded practical and confident. “Can you do that and _not_ get caught?” he demanded.

Boyd nodded, catching Scott by the back of the neck - he’d been about to climb into the back of Stiles’ Jeep with whatever Stiles still had thrown back there from what he’d packed for tonight’s plan. “We’ll go.” Isaac nodded agreement.

“Aw, but- Fine, okay.” Scott huffed. “We’ll take care of it, Stiles, don’t worry.”

“Don’t be dumb.” Stiles ordered, and Boyd gave a glare that would have made Stiles backtrack months ago, but now only made him laugh. “Be careful. Come back to the house as soon as you can.” It was what Derek would have said, roughly, if he’d been able to find that much sense through the spinning in his head.

Scott nodded, and Boyd simply headed back into the woods at a light jog. Isaac came closer, brushing a hand against Stiles’ back and pausing near Derek - he rested a hand on Isaac’s shoulder, squeezing firmly and feeling him calm - before running off after the older wolves.

Derek moved carefully around Stiles’ Jeep towards the passenger side as he leaned into the back again, and a moment later Stiles tossed out a bundle of cloth - blanket, jacket, three tee shirts - why? - a pair of jeans-

“Were you planning to go camping?” Derek asked as he sorted through the bundle in the passenger seat and decided on keeping to just the blanket. He needed to clean up and none of the clothes would fit him anyway.

“If you lived my life _you_ would keep a good number of spares handy too.” Stiles advised, tossing the clothes into the back of the Jeep again when Derek declined them and settling into the driver’s seat. “Comfy?” he asked.

Derek winced as he settled himself as comfortably as he _could_. “Yes.”

Stiles nodded, started up his miraculously-still-running rattletrap, and headed out of the woods with an ease borne of far too many moonlit trips out there. Then again, this was the same Stiles who had decided to traipse into the woods looking for a dead body before he’d even known about werewolves, much less gotten . . . involved.

Derek relaxed as Stiles’ Jeep rattled along, its mechanical noises joined occasionally by Stiles’ rambling, apparently not caring about the lack of replies. He was . . . tired, and he was safe enough here to close his eyes and trust Stiles to get him home.

He thought about his sister, what she’d said. He felt guilty at the accusation from her - guilty and pained. That he had somehow been using the agony thinking of his family brought to punish himself, twisting the anchor they had always been for him.

How had he not realised that his anchor had changed, though, Derek wondered? And what. . .

His new pack, makeshift and strange as it was?

A light touch brushed his arm, and Derek took a breath, opening his eyes again.

“Hey big bad.” Stiles said, and Derek glanced at him. He cut the engine. “Back home again for you.” He hopped out of the Jeep and swung around the front bumper to open the door for Derek.

Derek eyed him, but still accepted his support on climbing out of the Jeep, wobbling a little. He stifled a groan, his muscles aching.

“Hurts?” Stiles asked, and Derek glanced at him, startled. “The drugs, Derek. I know you dealt with their effects, but you can’t just brush it off quite so easily. Even you. You’ll need to sleep it off, but that should be all it takes. I’d think you can’t feel that great right now.” He didn’t actually seem to be expecting an answer, just guiding Derek towards the house, which was still dark - the others weren’t back yet, either, then.

Derek worried. He hadn’t wanted to send them off alone, but. . .

“Oh no, you need to _actually_ rest.” Stiles said, tightening his hold on Derek’s arm and turning him towards the corner bedroom. “. . .and get cleaned up, but you _don’t_ need to be pacing around here. They’ll be back soon.”

Part of Derek wanted to protest that, but he let Stiles have his way, rattling on about what he’d put together about the drug that had affected Derek and shoving him, blanket and all, into the bathroom.

Derek was still shaky, but he was deeply grateful for the opportunity to get clean again. Although. . .

He eyed himself in the mirror. No wonder Stiles was being so insistent, he thought vaguely; he looked awful, slightly pale and shocky, even worse somehow once he’d slowly, painstakingly scrubbed off the blood and dirt.

Slow and stiff as he’d been moving, it still must have taken longer than he’d thought, although Stiles hadn’t poked his head in to check on him. Derek could hear Boyd coming in the front door, Scott talking to him. Isaac was quiet, but his footsteps were there too.

“Anything that actually needs patching up, or are you going to be all right?” Stiles asked when he stepped out again, wearing a pair of pyjama pants. Derek frowned, and Stiles gently touched his chest, just shy of a slowly-healing bullet wound. “Injuries, big bad. I know you’re tough, but is there anything that needs dealing with?”

“Oh. No.” Derek said, which he was mostly certain was true, anyway.

“Great! I hate playing nurse.” Stiles said matter-of-factly. “Go on, go on, go on.” He actually flapped his hands at Derek. “Lie down, drink some water, general recovery stuff, you know the drill, man.” he said patiently, expectant.

Derek snorted, but went, collapsing into his bed. His bones ached, even at the soft impact of settling onto his mattress. Stiles . . . _might_ just have been right about heading straight to bed. Derek didn’t tell him so, but Stiles didn’t ever really need to be _told_.

He’d left by the time Derek got himself comfortably resting in bed, and he figured Stiles had gone, at least back out to where the others were waiting for the rest of their little pack to return. Derek frowned, hoping their night had gone better than his, but then . . . it surely couldn’t have been such a mess, no matter what happened. Derek had thought they’d planned for all the likely possibilities from tonight’s confrontation - Stiles certainly had seemed to have - but evidently not. Not on Derek’s side, anyway. He shuddered.

“Allison!” Scott’s voice, unsurprisingly delighted. It rang loud enough to make Derek focus on the chatter from the front room for a moment. “Erica! How did it go with the other hunters?” he asked, and Derek listened a little closer.

“Well, they weren’t really thrilled to listen to me.” Allison said, with a fiercely irritated edge. “And the leader had some choice words for anyone listening to a female call any shots whatsoever. So I shot him, and then they called me a psycho bitch and wanted to call the cops-”

“So naturally I had to punch some people.” Erica put in, with a sharp cackle.

“So Erica punched some people,” Allison continued seamlessly, “and we had a bit more of a _discussion_ before they said they thought their brother squad had the right idea and they were going to meet up and _team_ up, but they ran afoul of my dad on the way out.”

“Fuck, it was _awesome_.” Erica crowed, and Derek lost his focus on the conversation as Stiles came back towards him. He fretted a bit, leaning up, and-

“Hey hey, stay down.” Stiles said, chiding, his tone soft enough it didn’t prickle Derek’s hackles. Concern, not a command. “Easy. You’re not in the best shape, big bad. You need to _actually_ rest. Drink?” he offered, sitting down on the bed and holding out a glass.

Derek accepted it, but- “The others are back. I need to-”

“I’ll check.” Stiles said immediately, then stopped, only halfway back to his feet. “Or I suppose you need to hear the report yourself?”

Derek hesitated. “I don’t _have_ to.” he said - it was obvious, at least, that his pack were all right, from what he could hear. And it sounded as though Chris had dealt with the other hunters, even if only by running them out of town with the fear of god put in them. That might not have been his first choice, but it was . . . good.

“Catwoman!” Stiles not-quite-yelled suddenly, and Derek startled. “Get your shapely, bitch ass in here!”

Derek stared at him, but a moment later Erica stalked through the door. “Watch it, Batman.” she snapped, but she was grinning. “Put up or shut up.” She waggled her fingers at him. Then she looked at Derek and dipped her head, curls bouncing.

“Nah, not tonight.” Stiles said playfully, settling back on the bed beside Derek.

“What happened tonight, with you and Allison?” Derek asked her, and Erica nodded.

“It could have gone better, but that was on them, not us.” Erica said, with a sharp little frown. “They didn’t want to listen to a ‘non-official’ hunter. They didn’t want to listen to a woman. They didn’t want to listen to anyone who wasn’t fuckin’ psycho on werewolves. They didn’t want to listen in _general_ , feel me?”

Derek snorted, a growl building in his throat, and Stiles took the glass of water out of his hand and lightly stroked his wrist.

“We had a bit of a scuffle after that, Ally and I came out of it fine but some of them not so much,” Erica reported, eyes slightly unfocused as she thought, “Mr Argent showed up, turned out he did not in fact approve of their tactics even if he didn’t want to get involved, and possibly yelling insults at his daughter didn’t help.” She huffed, lips twitching as she shifted her weight. “Don’t know what exactly he did or how much, he asked us to leave him to talk with them after a few. They were scared twitchy, though.”

“Serves them right.” Stiles said, with a low sound that was almost a growl of his own. Derek’s brows twitched as he eyed Stiles. He’d gone a bit stiff, almost like _his_ hackles were prickled. Derek was a little amused.

“Yeah, right?” Erica said with a snort and a roll of her eyes. “At the very least I saw a couple of their trucks on the way outta town already.” she added, looking back to Derek.

“Thank you, Erica.” Derek said, smiling weakly at her. Erica nodded, looking between Derek and Stiles, then backed off.

“You could probably ask Allison to check in with her dad, or . . . or ask him yourself, tomorrow or something, if you need to know what he told them?” Erica said from the doorway, and Derek nodded acknowledgement.

Erica left them alone again, and the noise from the front of the house grew briefly louder once more, an insistent laugh and companionable chatter.

“You can leave me, I’m fine.” Derek told Stiles, shifting without trying to get up. “I’ll rest, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Not worried.” Stiles said, lips curled, shaking his head. “Here.” He offered the water back to him again. “Just making sure you’re settled and okay, and keeping you company, big bad wolf.”

Derek swallowed, pausing with the glass almost to his lips. “I’m not Erica.” he said, frowning.

Stiles’ eyebrows climbed. “Uh. . . No, that is in fact pretty obvious.” he said, showing no comprehension. “I know you got knocked for a loop - looked pretty bad there - but are you okay, Derek?” He leaned forwards, brushing his fingers over Derek’s brow.

“I’m not Erica, I mean- Your- Your jokes and. . .” Derek frowned. He wasn’t sure what he meant. “The- I don’t know what you want me to call you, but it’s not- What, Little Red?” It felt _bizarre_ and he swore never to say it again.

Stiles was silent, and Derek blinked and looked up at him again. He had one hand clasped over his mouth. “Oh,” he dropped it, burbling with laughter, “oh Derek, your face. No, I didn’t really- Dude, you think I _think_ about half of what comes out of my mouth?”

Derek snickered at that before he could think better of it, but Stiles only gave him a smile for it, gentle as he reached out and touched Derek’s jaw this time.

“If it bothers you, big bad, I’ll stop.” Stiles said, brushing his fingers up and along Derek’s hairline. “But no, I wasn’t waiting for you to, uh, reciprocate, or anything. It just came out. It fits somehow.” he said softly.

“You don’t have to stop.” Derek said, not sure why, other than that it felt weird to stifle Stiles at all. He leaned back again, exhausted.

“And for the record,” Stiles continued, “I think you know how to _play_ just fine. Not like me and Erica, but to be frank that’s probably for the best anyway.”

“Probably.” Derek snorted, closing his eyes. “You’re a nightmare, the pair of you. The world would implode if there were any more.” His lips curled fondly, and he startled as Stiles brushed a fingertip by one corner of his mouth. “Stiles?” He opened his eyes again.

“Nothing.” Stiles said, with a slightly odd smile. “Big bad wolf.” he added lightly. “Sleep well.” He leaned forwards and kissed Derek’s brow, a tender and caring gesture he hadn’t expected, and Derek’s eyes widened.

Stiles pulled away, smoothing out the blanket over Derek’s chest, and made to rise, but Derek caught his wrist. “Stiles.” he said, and amber eyes flicked to his, curious and nervous. Nervous now, Derek thought, where there hadn’t been so much as a flicker of hesitation in him to face down a bloody wolf bigger than he was that he’d had no way of knowing wasn’t still feral.

Stiles tilted his head. “Do you need-”

Derek pulled his arm, but gently, asking rather than forcing. Stiles still leaned back down easily under the tug, and Derek kissed him softly, tentative. Stiles’ breath caught, but he responded, just as soft. His lips were slightly chapped and raw in spots from being bitten, but warm and smooth all the same. Derek felt something almost _click_ in his chest, like the one wrong note in a jangling melody coming into tune.

Anchor, he realised, overwhelmed. That was his anchor settling into place in him. Not his new pack, only _Stiles_.

“I _was_ worried about you, Derek.” Stiles admitted, barely a breath against his lips. “You scared me. And I do not mean _you_ scared me, I wasn’t- I was scared for you.” He frowned, distress showing in his eyes and the tension around them.

“I’m sorry.” Derek said, and Stiles pinched his hip again, making him jump even though the sting was softer this time, with the blanket cushioning it. “I was scared too.” he admitted, a whisper barely loud enough to reach Stiles. “Thanks- You _should_ have,” he said, “but . . . thanks for not leaving me.”

“I never will.” Stiles scowled at him. “You know me better than to think I would just _leave_ , not when you were alone and _drugged_ and outnumbered.”

“I do.” Derek admitted, somewhat surprised to realise it was true. “But I could-”

“And you wouldn’t have hurt me.” Stiles said firmly, which was . . . true, maybe, though Derek hadn’t known it then. “I mean, I wasn’t going to be _dumb_ ,” he waved a hand, “but really.”

“No, I- I suppose not.” Derek said, still struggling to figure out. . . “Not if I’m your big bad wolf, I guess.” he tried.

Stiles made a little stifled noise almost like a giggle, and Derek flushed.

Stiles stroked his cheek, a little like he’d stroked Derek’s shoulder earlier, when he’d been the wolf. “I like that.” Stiles said softly, his touch gentle as his hand slid up to ruffle Derek’s hair. “My big bad wolf.” he said, leaning close and kissing the tip of Derek’s nose. His eyes crossed, following Stiles’ movement. “Rest, okay, big bad?”

“Right.” Derek agreed, relaxing his hold on Stiles’ wrist.

“I’ll be back in the morning.” Stiles promised, and Derek sighed, his wolf whining pitifully - a needy protest - as Stiles rose to leave. He shushed it and told himself it would be fine, Stiles would be back soon, and he was right that Derek needed to rest. The evening had been . . . a hard one.

“Derek.”

He looked up; Stiles was standing in the doorway.

“I’ll be up, I have some . . . things to look into after tonight. Call me if you . . . want to, big bad.” Stiles smiled at him, then slipped out the door, closing it gently.

**Author's Note:**

> Mikkimouse assures me that the Stiles-as-Derek's-anchor thing is a fandom staple; apparently I've missed that (oo, time to go archive diving. . .) it just came naturally for this. Also I only vaguely remember how anchors work in canon so . . . hopefully sensible.
> 
> Come find me on [Tumblr](http://kalira9.tumblr.com/) to chat or drop me a request!


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